Professional Tastes

It's only on the days when I have meetings scheduled with my editor that my computer completely blows up, shuts down, loses my formatting, and scares me. Today I spent hours with my backup copies, sweating heavily, trying to figure out what went wrong, only to lift my head on quite a vigorous debate in the blogs. Professional reviewers, it seems, feel infringed upon by the peanut gallery known as bloggers, who swoon over authors like celebrities, reporting rapturously on their sightings, and who popularize books by word-of-mouth.

Bloggers seem to be, in a word, fans. Fans of books, fans of literature for young adults and children, fans of certain works. Recent discussion has left me wondering if it's not the 'fandom' aspect of YA/children's book blogging that has some people upset, but the hierarchy, and the idea that we are not to talk about something that no one has sanctioned us to mention.

I find that idea very odd. When I'm enthused about something, I don't generally let unwritten protocol stop me from saying so, and I very much doubt that the people whose sour generalizations began this discussion would let that stop them either.

Hm.


Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

- Robert Hayden

I love this poem. I encountered it in high school, during a test, and secreted it on a slip of paper, until I could take it home and transcribe it in my journal. I hadn't always liked my father, but I knew that he worked hard for us, and the poem was a type of perspective that I needed to mull over in my mind. I'd never thought of it -- or him -- in that way.

Now, linguistic Professionals have assessed this poem; Professionals who Know Poetry. Some of those Professionals were the ones who introduced me to the poem, and for a grade, they wished for me to express my opinion on this piece. They expected me, as a student, to comment within what I had learned from them, and I did. However, I'm glad the 'blogosphere' exists so that I can express my opinion in different, perhaps more creative terms. On my blog, I can talk about this poem in any way I choose.

You don't have to like this poem.
No one is paying me to say that I like it.
I consider it a waste of time to discuss poems that I don't like.
I just thought I'd share a poem that I love.

Thanks for reading my National Poetry Month selection. If, at some point, you read any of my book reviews, I hope you find the books that I like likable as well... or not. In any case, I'm glad you visited our blog...

Monday Musings

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

- Langston Hughes

Every revolution, Columbine High School graduate Alex Marsh once said, "begins with a single voice." Ron Koertege captures the angry voices of fifteen narrators at Branston High School who alike have suffered during high school, and whose need for revenge is a snowball rolling faster and faster.

Boyd

We make plans, we download from that supersecret website, we draw diagrams, or go on a weapons recon, and Mike just gets calmer.

Not me. I keep both fists in my pockets and nod. Otherwise my voice, my hands, everything shakes.

Then I look at the list: everybody who ever blew me off, flipped me off, or pissed me off.

So I shake a little. It'll be worth it.

Mr. Koertge's poetry - always truthful, pulling no punches - roars in my head today...

Slightly Insane, Basically Just Jess

I truly enjoyed the Jess Jordan trilogy: Girl, 15, Charming But Insane, and its sequels Girl, (Nearly) 16, Absolute Torture, and finally Girl, Going on 17, Pants on Fire.

The incredibly crazed Jess Jordan is a delightfully batty British teen who once thought it a keen idea to create false boobs with -- of course -- bags of liquid. (Plastic surgeons have done this for years, but it's doubtful that any of them have ever resorted to minestrone soup.) Out of one disaster and into another Jess staggers, trying desperately not only to stay afloat in the world of high school, with its quick alliances and quicker betrayals, but to be visible in her own friendship. Jess's best friend Flora is perfect - with her stunningly blonde hair and blue eyes, Jess wavers between wanting to pull her head off and bat it to left field, and loving her fiercely, even while worrying she'll always play second, even with her quick wit and funny one-liners. Gorgeous Flora one-ups Jess every time the incredible Ben Johnson is in the room; surely he'll never notice Jess. In the end, Jess isn't sure if that matters...

On the home front, Jess' concerns with her mother -- a rather over-involved, abrasively opinionated librarian, her grandmother, who has just moved in -- along with her Grandpa, though he's in an urn -- and her father -- loving but distant, though he texts her daily with hilarious horror-scopes -- all add their insanity. Only her best boy-buddy, Fred, with his wretched poet-style hair (which Jess is dying to cut) remains a constant -- and then even he gets a little nuts.

The mysteries involving Ben, Jess's father, and the difficulties in forming a relationship and keeping on the good side of teachers and principals will keep readers busy laughing through all three of Sue Limb's scattered and nutty books. "Charming but insane" is a perfect way to describe the series.

Crumbcatchers

Harry Sue Clotkin is one tough cookie, and she's not about to be anything else. Her mother tried saving her the time her father tossed her out of the 7th story window, and they would have been well rid of him, too, if she hadn't left her meth lab out on the kitchen table. Without the instruction manual and the burner, the cops would've thought it was powdered sugar.

The only child of convicted felons, Harry Sue's been stuck with Granny, who out of the alleged goodness of her crabbed and sour heart took her in. Once she found out there wasn't any money connected with caring for her own grandchild, however, Granny couldn't be bothered with her. Instead, she opened up a daycare, and Harry Sue's been protecting the crumbcatchers from Granny and her two, drugged up daughters ever since. She wouldn't put it past them to drug the applesauce to keep the kids quiet, and she's warned 'em what'll happen if she catches them. And then there's school -- why is it that she can't do anything there without consequences?! But Violet Chump really did need someone to save her life... though in reality, Harry Sue isn't supposed to be worrying about the crumbcatchers, and all of that do-gooding -- her goal is to get into the Big House. She's got to start a life of crime, or she'll never find her mother, ever. Her best dog, Homer, promises to help, but it might take more luck and moxie than anyone expected to help Harry Sue find her way home.

The language in this novel might be off-putting at first -- I am not accustomed to being presented with a glossary at the beginning of the book -- but the 'conglish' (Convict English) slang fades from the background as the poignant, funny-tragic tale of a scrappy little girl and her determined friends comes to the fore. There's plenty to sniffle over, but in the end there is triumph, and the feeling that no matter what, nobody puts one over on Harry Sue.

Between A Rock and a Hard Place

Mount Eskel is a place where only the strong survive. 'Skinnier than a lowlander's arm' is one of the stock phrases Eskel-ites say, since few know of the power and strength it takes to mine linder, the stone from which all castles and great houses are built in the lowlands, the stone which stays polished and true even after decades. Miri, named after a flower that grows among the linder, worries that she, too, is as useless as a lowlander. Her father will not allow her to work in the mines, and she fears that even her best friend, Peder, doesn't know her true value. It is only when word comes from the valley that the king's priests have divined Mount Eskel to be the home of the prince’s bride-to-be— the next princess - that Miri feels suddenly that maybe she has something to offer.

She would be willing to marry the prince if only to bring her father and sister a better home, and her village a better life, even though she would dreadfully miss Peder and Esa and the others. But it's not as easy as it could be. Tradition states that all eligible girls must attend a Princess Academy to make themselves worthy of marrying the prince. The makeshift mountain academy Miri attends is nothing like she thought it would be. There's jealousy and competition, and a truly evil headmistress who locks her in a closet and forgets about her. But Miri has a secret which she holds to herself -- the secret of the linder, which causes the miners to be able to speak to each other through the rock. That secret might just change everything.

A perfectly wonderful happily-ever-after fairytale, Princess Academy is a perfect curl-up-and-dream treat.

Cherry Popsicles and Other Treats

A funny-sweet-tender novel about the horror formerly known as junior high, Jenny Han's perfectly poised Shug is my new favorite junior high novel.

One day when she was twelve, Annemarie Wilcox looked up and found out that she knew the perfect boy. After all, Mark was her best, best friend, the boy she'd been hanging around with since sandbox days, eating cherry Popsicles and talking about nothing in particular. For some reason, though, Mark is acting like a dork. He's not tuning in to the clues that Annemarie is throwing down. I mean, how can he help but notice her? Instead, he asks, "Why are you always showing off?" "Why'd you have to say that?"

Then, through a series of completely horrible incidents, 'Shug,' (which her mother calls her after the strong and outrageous woman in The Color Purple) discovers that not only does Mark prefer his longstanding crush on her sixteen-year-old sister, Celia, Mark would rather look at her friend Elaine and make fun of her to Kyle, Hugh and Jack than have anything else to do with her.

Life is awful. And confusing. And funnier than heck at times. Shug discovers that sweet boys can be found in the funniest places -- sometimes just below the nasty-mean-tough exteriors of guys she's hated forever.

She's funny and fearless (at least on the outside!), and after reading her, you'll wish you'd gone to junior high with super special Shug.

Burying Her Head in the Sand

Ellen Wittlinger has created a novel of painful reality. Sandpiper Hollow Ragsdale thinks it's bad enough having a weird hippie name, but she's got a reputation to go along with it. No offense, but she's kind of a slut... not so much lately, but it's what people think, from her history of getting physical with guys for a day or two, and then dumping them for the next one. She's only doing what all her other friends used to do... the problem is, she wants to stop, but she isn't quite sure... how.

Her parent's don't really suspect how she lives -- mainly because her mother is all caught up in her own upcoming wedding, and her father -- well, he can't look at her anymore, not since her bust has developed -- really developed. Sandpiper knows she's attractive, but instead of being able to use her looks, they're using her... and they're adding dangerously to that horrible reputation. It's harder to get rid of than she thought... since it seems like other people aren't ready to let it go. Certainly not Derek and his two rock-headed friends, who suddenly show up wherever she is, talking crap about her, throwing rocks at her cat, and threatening her little sister. She didn't mean anything when she was with them, okay? So, why are they taking it -- and treating her -- so badly? Only one person seems not to see Piper - either in a good way or a bad way -- her friend the Walker. But he has demons of his own.

When everything falls apart for Sandpiper, the question ringing in her ears is Did I deserve this?

Wittlinger's fresh, original poetry gives this pieces a lot more emotional heft, especially Sandpiper's upwelling of painful bewilderment at feeling rejection from her father. The storyline of the Walker, to my mind, is an unnecessary and confusing addition to the novel which obscures the issue of a girl and her parents and the relationships that was intended to be in her life to give her strength. I felt that Sandpiper was just as obsessed with the Walker as she was with the heady rush of power she felt when she first started off with a boyfriend, and that emotional imbalance was never fully explored or explained. Still, this is an excellent book on a topic that few people care to broach, and readers who don't mind frank discussions of serious topics will come away thoughtful.

How to Save the World

When we last met Scott Westerfeld's Midnighters, there had been dramatic rescues, ever-more-spine-tingling battles against ancient evil darklings, and an astonishing discovery--another living midnighter in their small Oklahoma town of Bixby. Not to mention conspiracies to eradicate the previous generation of midnighters, which is why Madeleine is the only one left.

The midnighters--people born at the stroke of midnight--have access to the Secret Hour, an extra hour at midnight when time freezes and the midnighters alone roam the town...well, not quite alone, because there are also the darklings: ancient predators who were long-ago banished to the "blue time," as Bixby's teenage midnighters call it.

Throughout the trilogy, the five teenage midnighters, each with their special powers--Rex, the seer; Dess, the polymath; Jonathan, the flyboy; Melissa, the mindcaster, and Jessica, the flamebringer--have been fighting off increasingly aggressive attacks by darklings during the secret hour. And in Midnighters #3: Blue Noon, it becomes clear that the darklings are waiting for something. Something BIG. And when, one unforgettable day, the blue time comes in the middle of a morning pep rally, the midnighters start to get an idea of what the darklings might be so eager about.

This is another suspense-filled, creepy volume and an excellent ending to the trilogy. The way the books are structured, with constant references to time, dates of reckoning, etc., creates a fast-paced sense of urgency that makes it VERY difficult to put the book down and go be productive.

Also, don't miss TadMack's excellent review of this volume.

Contest Alert! and Weekend Wanderings

Don't miss the contest at Lisa Yee's. It's a short one... a really short one. As in, write a 25 word story. Sadly, I am already stumped.

Meanwhile, the Disco Mermaids, together with their agents and the folks from Razorbill, want you to come play. Theirs is a hilarious contest helping the less fortunate... that is, celebrities without ideas... and help them to write... a children's book. Because really - don't they all want to? So that they can follow the A#1 writer's rule of Write What You Know, your instructions are to give them a title for a book only they could write. Their example makes William Kotzwinkle's Walter, the Farting Dog turn into: Al Gore's Walter the Ozone-Depleting Dog. Despite the DM's inexplicable prejudices against French hens and turtle doves, this is an awesome contest - and has some awesome prizes. Do check it out!

Chasing Ray offers a plethora of writing inspirations... I am more than willing to try the chocolate. The axe? Not so much...

(As you may have noticed...) Books that include food are a big draw for me. My carb-addicted soul still loves the toast description in The Wind in the Willows of hot buttered toast. Ratty's buttery toast is second to none, not even hot, buttered popcorn (yum...) Ahem. Anyway, from The New Yorker comes theories about what the food means, and the question of what the draw is of imaginary or real food in our favorite novels.

Over at Fuse#8, the dreaded question of author photographs arises. Where/how/who takes those? And, like Fuse, I won't mention names, but some of them, er, stump me. My first two short novels (very out of print), the author pic was taken by the husband of the registrar of the school at which I taught. He is a photographer for PG&E (and who knows why they need photographers?). He took two rolls of B&W and color, and I found four I liked -- in B&W. Needless to say, the publisher wanted color, of course. It was, I felt, revolting, but whatchagonnado? The question thus far has not yet been broached with my current publisher and book designer... and I don't think it will, thankfully. Trying not to angst about the COVER (although I have a FABULOUS cover designer) is bad enough.

The Potter bloggers reminisce about this heady time in their lives, and wonder what to do next. Meanwhile, via Fuse, I shudder to think of the Harry Potter Theme Park. Oy. Just... oy.

Amazing Teen Poetry

In discussing craft, the question sometimes comes up of what is kitschy in a work, and what is cool. Added features like the ones Markus Zusak used in I Am the Messenger were playing cards, a mysterious way to begin chapters, and a definite tie-in to the storyline. Other additional pieces have been puzzle pieces, a sketch in stages, and an item of food being devoured as the novel progresses. Another cool and National Poetry Month related novel element is Ellen Wittlinger's poetry in the novel Sandpiper. The poems conclude each chapter, and are fresh and original pieces of poetry which give us a deeper glimpse into the character's heart. I was amazed by some of it -- it's not as if it's not work enough to write a novel, but poetry! Ms. Wittlinger was a playwright and poet before she became a novelist, and it gives a further depth and strength to her work.

And the type of poetry written is the type of poetry that seems drawn wholly from the brain of a journaling teen. Some of them have such a ring of personal truth that it was scary to read them. Here I include one of my favorites:

Daddy
(with apologies to Sylvia Plath)

You do not do, you do not do,
Anymore, what you used to do.
We were such a pair, we two,
Until my poor white breasts debuted
And grew between us.

Daddy, sometimes it kills me
that I've outgrown you.
I didn't know there'd be no
Follow-through for me and you,
My pa, my pooh.

I have never been scared of you,
But this slow losing of you tears
at my heart and hurts clear through.
I can't even talk to you - you
Who once knew all my secrets.

Funny, you think the glue between us
Loosens as my almost adult self
Begins to act like you. You think
I'm screwing, and I'm screwed.
You think I need a talking-to.

Oh, Daddy, Daddy, it's the end
of our duet, the curtain
on our pas de deux.
You're mad, I'm blue.
You're sick of me; me too.

Excerpted from the novel, Sandpiper, Copyright ©2005. By Ellen Wittlinger.

Toon Thursday (It's Still Thursday!!)

I went for a more topical approach this time...Bonus points if you can name two not-so-hidden literary references (besides the really obvious one).

Extra bonus points if you can name the world's funniest usage of the word "nutsack." (Hint #1: This isn't it. Hint #2: It involves Amy Poehler.)

Even if it's a one-time deal, I'm happy to resurrect my cartooning alter ego from my undergrad days, Helen Tarnation. I recently found a notebook of my old Helen Tarnation Productions and I must say, I'm much funnier now...Good thing I remained mostly anonymous...

Poetry Before Sleeping

FOG

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

This is a cute little book about a fleeting friendship -- one day a cat came to stay, and then it went away, leaving gifts behind like cats, fogs, and friendships do.

I remember this poem from the fourth grade, where we learned to say onomatopoeia. Sadly, it took until college to remember how to spell it.

Go forth and read the latest Edge of the Forest. I'm seeing double now, but I will be sure to give it a thorough read tomorrow... especially A Day in the Life, which features novelist Lauren Myracle of text-message novel fame, the Cybils recap (but no hints on this year's - the jury is still out!), and the piece on reading and teaching Mortal Engines in Dubai... some really great stuff.

Just Popping By ...

Greetings this blustery day!

I'm pausing for five minutes to look out and appreciate the world... okay, I could actually a.) shower, b.) put on street clothes, or c.) go outside, but reading blogs is my pajamas is my "outing" this hour...

I can't figure out a joke to tell with the story of Geri Halliwell, former Spice Girl turned Children's Author, so we'll all just have to smile at the thought. Actually, my smile is... bewildered. She's been contracted to produce a series, one book a month from May 2008, and is meant to be accompanied by a "promotional song." And the storyline? Yes. Nine-year-old Ugenia Lavender, is the "incredible kid who has heaps of attitude and brainwaves like bolts of lightning", and Halliwell will give her "contemporary adventures."

Um. Okay. I'll save the open mockery for MotherReader (also don't miss her lovely and thoughtful comments on the late Mr. Vonnegut). I'd like to see Alkelda's editorial letter on that one.

Via A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy, I found a call for bloggers who review "classic" children's books. Gina from AmoxCalli feels she's neglecting some of the older books she wants to recommend to a host of young readers. I have also felt that I missed being born earlier so I could read more Joan Aiken without having to hunt for old out of print copies, and I still adore such goodies as I Capture the Castle, Jean Webster's Daddy Long Legs, or Stella Gibbons' hysterical Cold Comfort Farm... Sometimes I think all of the good books and stories have already been told - but I'm proved wrong pretty much on a daily basis, happily. (Yes! So many more multicultural tales to tell. So many excellent vampire yarns. So many science fiction tomes. So many books, so little time...!) Anyway, do jet on over to AmoxCalli's and at least read the reviews. There are some fabulous books out there yet to be discovered.

Well, it's back to work for me. Ciao, ciao...

Is It Only Wednesday?

Round-up 'Round the Blogosphere

Satirical, thought-provoking and often 'banned-and-burned' novelist Kurt Vonnegut died today. I imagine him living to 84, just to aggravate those who hated his books...

YA Author's Cafe asks an intriguing questions of YA authors and readers -- what do you think about the sexual content of YA literature? Head over and log your opinion.

The ALAN Online Book Club's April read is A Room on Lorelei Street, which is a fantastic book, so the discussion should be equally good.

Did you know that Readergirlz has over 1000 friends on MySpace? How cool are they? The discussion this month on On Point, by Lorie Ann Grover is ongoing, but read ahead, and get ready for The Phoenix Dance next month. Everyone is welcome to chat and join the gang! (The Readergirlz website always has the best soundtrack... and if you find yourself humming The Rainbow Connection for the rest of the month, you'll know why...)

Fans of the graphic arts will be amused to see the School Library Journal's graphic humor. It's actually... both cute and informative. Huh. Go Librarians. (Via Fuse#8

I feel very much like a mole... or a roach. Working these weird hours makes me feel like I'm sleepwalking. It's been a productive working time, however, so I won't complain about my odd hours.

Even though it's practically tomorrow, I wanted to post my National Poetry Month poem of the day... and I've just discovered that I can't. Oh well. Until Gran Died is an unusual poem written by an British children's Wes Magee... The poem is about death, a subject that causes more furor with Well Meaning Protectors Of Children's Innocence, almost more than sex. I'll not post it here, to observe copyright, but please go and read it here. It doesn't mince words about sadness, but it isn't overly sentimental either. I really liked it.

I'm pretty sure that noise I hear is my bed calling...

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter... Here There Be...

A celebrations of dragons in poetry, prose, fiction, and original folktales, Jane Yolen’s Here There Be Dragons joyously embraces the blank spots on the edge of the map, the what-ifs that make history and lore.

This is as much a novel as a picture book, and even older readers will find something to like. Yolen’s collection features many of her unique poems, and the roots of some storylines which appear fleshed out in later novels. A short piece included in this collection later became the basis of the popular The Pit Dragon Chronicles. The stories in this collection are meditative, thoughtful, funny or tragic, each prefaced by an introduction by the author. The artwork by David Wilgus make this big book a dragon-lover's coffee table treasure. Yolen fans will wish to seek out Here There Be Witches , Here There Be Unicorns , Here There Be Ghosts , and Here There Be Angels , the rest of this intriguing art-filled picture book series.

Far From the Madding Crowd

Owen is a record player in a tape player world. He’s just completely out of step with his life. It’s not really his fault – he’s trying hard, but he’s not getting anywhere. If it wasn’t for Natalie Field, a girl who just happened to speak to him one day, he would have kept trying to fit in, settled for the car his father wanted him to drive, and the college his mother wanted to attend.

Natalie changed a lot of things.

Including Owen’s belief that he is all alone. He feels such huge relief that he figures that yes – this is it. I must be in love.

And of course, that ruins everything.

A Very Long Way From Anywhere Else by Ursula LeGuin was reprinted in paperback in 2000, but the characters still ring true from their 1976 incarnation. Now we are CD people in an iPod world, thoughtful introverts trying to make it in high schools filled with extroverts who seem to flash, buzz and screech to a different drummer, all the while wondering what it’s like to be so different. The Owens of the world owe it to themselves to not try to keep in step. Things that are one of a kind are, after all, are rare, and to be treasured.

Blinded by Firelight

Goose Girl by Shannon Hale leaves our heroine a queen, and her friend Enna quietly fading back into the Forest to care for her mother. However, Isi and Enna's stand-alone sequel is anything but quiet.

Enna chafes at being back in the Forest and away from the Town where Isi holds court as the wife of the Prince. Nothing happens in the Forest, she is surrounded by boys like Finn who are sweet, but who only dream only of trees and girls who want only for a dull young man to build a house for them. When Leifer, Enna’s brother, discovers something that sets him apart, he becomes strange to his sister – surly and mean. An attack on Bayern’s borders gives him the chance to expend his meanness, and he goes to war, but not before Enna discovers his secret – a piece of priceless vellum that teaches him a spell to call fires and set them – without a spark.

Fire, so life-giving and warm, is also a power without a conscience which betrays and destroys. Enna sees her brother die of its effects. But Bayern is in danger… and so Enna takes the fire into herself. Will Enna Burning destroy everything?

Taking the Words Out of their Mouths

It was just an ordinary day in Nollop, a utopian island city off the coast of South Carolina. Nollop is named after Nevin Nollop, the genius behind the typing class pangram (which is a sentence that uses every letter of the alphabet) ‘the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog,’ a sentence which uses all 26 letters of the alphabet to best advantage. This sentence looms above the town in monument form, and when one day the letter Z tile drops away and shatters, the Nollop City Counsel determines that it is Nollop speaking to his people from abroad. From then on, they must do without the letter which has fallen, and must abolish it from their vocabulary.

The only problem with this is, the putty backing the tiles is ancient. In time, another letter drops. And then another. And another…

Correspondence flies, as with zany charm, the totalitarian regime of the Nollop High Counsel takes the words right out of the citizens of Nollop’s mouths. Punishments are meted out, citizens are banished, land is taken as the Council grows in power. Readers who love words and their meanings will have great fun with Ella Minnow Pea, a lighthearted epistolary satire, which takes a look at hard headed zealotry, and is a story that uses silliness to point out dangerous precedents in human behavior.

Flying Home

Kendall is adrift. Her parents and little brother were killed in a car accident when she was only four, and now, with the death of her grandmother, Kendall now seventeen and a struggling high school senior, is frantic to find any kind of mooring.

Her Grandmama told her that “family sticks together,” and that has been Kendall’s rule of life. Her only living relative, Aunt Janice, is in New Orleans, and once she’s been notified of the death, Kendall waits to hear from her. And waits. And waits.

Taking matters into her own hands, Kendall finds her way down South, only to find an empty apartment, an angry landlady, and an opportunity to make a new place her home, with or without a blood-relative. Sparrow is another beautiful and long-awaited book from the talented Sherri L. Smith that tells of a strong girl being cast out into the wide sea of the world, and finding her way to safe harbor.

On Company Time

Freedom Station. It’s a supply outpost, and the kind of place where if you’re not working for the good of the Company, you’re not part of the Company. And if you’re not part of the Company, you’re from Earth. And Earthies have no business in the Black. Freedom Station is part of the Asteroid Belt, and that’s Company territory. Nobody who ruined Earth is going to come up and ruin space, too.

At least, that’s what Jack thinks. He’s always lived on Freedom Station, working and being cared for by the station – as long as he works, that is. He’s got no family but his boss, but he knows Freedom, and he thinks he knows who belongs. Earthies visit, but they don’t stay. Those who get dumped had better find a job. The other workers hunt down Rats – the kids who have been abandoned or run away to the Station – and they bring them down. There’s no room on Freedom Station for anybody to just suck down resources and not give back. Jack’s paid his dues, and he’s about to move on, when he finds a Rat… with a droid… There are people who will pay big to find that droid, and Jack’s in need of money.

But Kit’s not just a Rat, she’s a girl… with a name… and a need. Jack's conscience won't let him leave her, so for now it's Spacer and Rat , and everything about the universe is just the opposite of what Jack’s been taught to believe.

Tradition!

Mercedes Lackey has written a lot of novels, but some of the best ones for young adults are from The Five Hundred Kingdoms where Tradition is spelled with a capital ‘t,’ and everything happens according to the story. Life, in the Five Hundred Kingdoms, is kind of like a fairytale…

In the past, dragons rampaging villages have been soothed by a virgin sacrifice. Finding a virginal young girl and staking her out to a rock for some inexplicable reason calms dragons down, according to the Tradition, and so, when the people of Acadia are attacked by a dragon, this is what they do. In developing a lottery system whereby girls are chosen, there is what can only be a mistake. The Queen’s only daughter, Princess Andromeda is chosen. The kingdom reels as the brave young princess goes to fulfill her destiny for her people.

Of course, the Princess is saved by a Champion, which is what the Tradition calls for. Sir George doesn’t exactly slay the dragon, and Acadia is still in great danger. Andromeda has to face the worst, and is prepared to give up everything she loves best to save her home.
But is it a good idea to try and buck Tradition?

One Good Knight is a fun novel that mocks some of the pretensions of ‘high fantasy,’ and include talking unicorns, bold Lads (kind of) and Fair Maidens, creating a fast-paced and amusing adventure story.

Glued Keyboards

Non kid-lit related book news, but, you know, um, Aaargh!

April's Readergirlz book of the month is all about the spotlights, the action, and the dance. Don't miss the discussion, and check out an interview with author Lorie Ann Grover, who talks about not quitting things that are difficult to achieve.

In world's smoothest segue yet (heh), the final re-edit of my novel (how many times have I said that?!) goes apace... I fear I'm joining Colleen at Chasing Ray in feeling like words are coming out of me like... glue. And there's really no reason. I know what I'm supposed to be doing, and, as I told my editor, the words "rewrite this scene using action and dialogue" are pretty clear.

It begs the question of why I'm not just galloping forward.

Perhaps it's because I need to retire. To my cave (Via Fuse#8). It's ridiculous how much I want to...

Today's poem is just a snippet... for fun I memorized Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken as a freshman, and it has stuck with me, especially whenever I start to feel pinched by the requirements, disappointments and fears of this particular profession, I remember:
...
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Here's to patiently walking the roads we choose.

Summer Stories

Debbie looked out into the world and wished that something would happen.

She didn't have any real idea what, just that... that indefinable something that would make her different, make her life better, just make... things... move. And over the course of one special summer, something ...did happen.

Finding out "what happened" isn't a quick discovery. Life happened, and life happens gradually. This is a reflective, quiet novel with plenty of funny sweetness that sounds absurd when described like this, but... it is what it is! The novel criss-crosses the stories of Debbie, her friend Hector, her lost locket, his guitar-playing, and their longing for boyfriends and girlfriends, to be less self-conscious, to be taller, smarter, better equipped to deal with others, and more.

This novel is definitely not for everyone, but tweens who are willing to take the time will find something special here.

The Dark Side of the Moon

A school assignment to write three different papers on the moon is no picnic. Why is it, Miranda wonders, that teachers all manage to make things due on the same day? A meteor hitting the moon is an event that spans every class she’s in, and every teacher wants to talk about it. It’s an American event, it seems, and Miranda, in her typical American family, is out on the lawn with the rest of the neighborhood, watching the show. It's just another night in Suburbia, Miranda thinks.

Nobody, however, is truly prepared for this event.

First, the meteor is bigger than everybody thought. Second, knocks the moon out of orbit. Third, it triggers a series of storms and tsunamis.

It’s not done yet.

Miranda and her brothers think their mother is nuts for running to the grocery store and filling their pantry and basement with food, but when the power flickers off and on and …off, Miranda isn’t so sure that Life As We Knew It will ever be the same…

Susan Beth Pfeffer creates one of the most stark, chilling, environmental disaster stories I’ve ever read. Miranda’s journals provide evidence of the emotional roller coaster of the survivors, the behavior of large groups of people due to human nature, the little cruelties and kindnesses. This frightening tale will make you want to pack up your garage with vitamins and foodstuff and make a run to a big-box retailer for batteries enough for the next fifteen years.

Meanwhile, the Sci-Fi Channel reports that Pfeffer has completed a companion novel to this chilling book titled, The Dead and the Gone.

The Familiar Face of Darkness

Keturah is an unique and integral part of a very small village, Tide-by-Rood. Though poor, she and her friends are happy, living below the estate of the Great Lord, working and bartering to maintain their slender thread of life. The Lord was banished here by the King, and so he may not much care for his people, but no matter. The villagers listen as Keturah weaves stories of the white hind he hunts, and are happy enough, but Keturah is not. The world around her is simple… her beloved grandmother, who still mourns her romantic and wonderful husband, her girlfriends, the village boys, and the Lord's son. These people whom she loves and entertains wish for simple things. The girls dream of marrying, the boys dream of hunting exploits, and Keturah dreams of she isn’t sure what.

One night, Keturah sees the hind from so many of her tales, and follows it into the forest where, as in all Victorian tales, Bad Things Happen. And something bad does happen. Keturah can’t find her way home, and knowing that death is coming after three days of wandering, sits down and waits for it.

It turns out that death is not an ‘it.’ Death is a He. And Lord Death is powerful, implacable, and disturbingly familiar. Keturah realizes she has known him, and been attracted by him, all her life.

Like a folk tale told around the fire, Keturah and Lord Death spins out a darkly romantic story in which all of the pieces interlock seamlessly. Honored as a National Book Award finalist, readers who love Victorian fiction and dark romances may enjoy this, and may wish to seek out other works by Martine Leavitt.

Poetry, Panic and Procrastination

Occasionally (via Bookshelves O' Doom), things just come along and attack writers, prohibiting them from doing the most basic things... like, um... finishing books.

I, myself, am close to approaching the plane of panic, but not yet cool enough to be Cecil Castellucci and make up a cool dance and song about it. Dang.

Meanwhile, Saints & Spinners has the true story of Children's Books That Never Were, 2: The MISgiving Tree... hee! I wish I had the brainpower right now to participate in this; for now I only watch and snicker...

Again at Bookshelves of Doom, people in passing were commenting on how difficult it is to read books wherein the protagonist does something so... utterly... eeek, and the reader reads on with one hand over their eyes shrieking, "No! No! Nooooo!" Well. I have since discovered a fun - or not-so-fun fact. In my most recent note from SuperE, my editor (able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, is she), I have discovered that my personal cringing has apparently extended its tentacles right on into my fiction. SuperE has said that I must not resolve uncomfortable situations so easily. "Spend some more time with discomfort," she says.

Eek.

Doesn't that sound like something a therapist would say? "Make friends with silence" or, like a spinning coach, "Let the pain be your friend." Ugh, and no, thank-you very much.

Sometimes I actually take my time getting to books to which everyone else has given great acclaim simply because the subject matter assures me that I am going to squirm, feel ill, both concurrently, or worse. I am not overly sensitized by sad or tragic stories, but I do tend to cringe from being ...embarrassed. I guess it comes from really liking a character and investing in them, and identifying with them, and then, if they do stupid things... angsting for them. Bizarre, no?

It is not reassuring that I wish to keep the world in neat lines, packaged securely, wrapped in tidy brown paper packages. There's no story in neatly wrapped packages... there is no ...anything there. Life is messy. Good fiction should also strive to be so, as good fiction reflects life... So. I am now going back to the sea of blue scribbles on my manuscript and will endeavor to ...suffer a bit for the sake of my art. The best ink, it is said, comes tinted with our blood, and

I Want to Write...
==================================================
I want to write
I want to write the songs of my people.
I want to hear them singing melodies in the dark.
I want to catch the last floating strains from their sob-torn

throats.

I want to frame their dreams into words; their souls into

notes.

I want to catch their sunshine laughter in a bowl;
fling dark hands to a darker sky
and fill them full of stars
then crush and mix such lights till they become
a mirrored pool of brilliance in the dawn.

-Margaret Walker
(And wasn't she brilliant? This poem she wrote when she was only nineteen years old...)

Writing is, mainly, as easy as breathing, except when it isn't... except for the days when it is impossible. I know that I am stubborn, but I guess passive-aggressiveness isn't going to get it, this time. Farewell... I boldly go seeking angst, anger and conflict.

Oy.

(This concludes the Panic & Hysteria portion of this post.)

Meanwhile, in a vain (but lovely and amazing and quite pleasant!) attempt to forget just how much work I have to do, I sat down and read eleven books during the course of various gatherings and duties this weekend. In one of them, I rediscovered one of my other favorite Our Jane poems,

Why Dragons?
==========================
The smoke still hangs heavily over the meadow,
Circling down from the mouth of the cave,
While kneeling in prayer, full armored and haloed,
The lone knight is feeling uncertainly brave.

The promise of victory sung in the churches,
Is hardly a murmur out here in the air.
All that he hears is the thud of his faint heart

Echoing growls of the beast in its lair.

The steel of his armor would flash in the sunlight,
Except that the smoke has quite hidden the sky.
The red of the cross on his breast should sustain him,
Except -- he suspects -- it's a perfect bull's-eye.

The folk of the village who bet on the outcome
Have somehow all fled from the scene in dismay.
They'll likely return in a fortnight or longer,
He doubts that they'll be of much help on this day.

And then -- with a scream -- that fell best of the cavern
Flings its foul body full out of the cave.
The knight forgets prayers and churches and haloes
And tries to remember just how to be brave.

The webs on the wings of the dragon are reddened,
With blood or with sunlight, the knight is not sure.
The head of the beast is a silver-toothed nightmare,
Its tongue drips a poison for which there's no cure.

He thrusts with his sword and he pokes with his gauntlets,
He knees with his poleyn, kicks out with his greave.
He'd happily give all the gold in his pocket
If only the dragon would quietly leave.

There's smoke and there's fire, there's wind and there's growling,
There's screams from the knight, and his sobs and his cries.
And when the smoke clears, there's the sound of dry heaving
As one of the two of them messily dies.

Of course it's the knight who has won this hard battle,
Who wins in a poem beaten out on a forge
Of human devising and human invention.
BUT:
If there's no dragon -- then there's no Saint George.

- Jane Yolen
Here There Be Dragons, ©1993

Sunday Blog Roundup

I am incredibly behind on reading blog posts, so please excuse the fact that these are all several days old. Apparently I'm not spending the requisite four hours a day on blogs that I should be! (Link via Fuse #8) I also had a rather eventful weekend that resulted in being out of the house pretty much all day Friday and Saturday, but one kidlit-related thing did happen to me while I was out, at a party last night at the house of one of my husband's co-workers. I found out during casual conversation that the co-worker whose house it was, Brian, has a twin brother who happens to work for Maurice Sendak. That's just bizarre. Anyway, on to the links.

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Via Cynsations, some interesting thoughts about writers' conferences and whether it's actually possible to make personal connections with editors or agents there. Also, the ups and downs of getting an MFA, by writer Sarah Aronson.

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Congrats to fellow bloggers Little Willow, Jen Robinson, Jackie at interactivereader, Miss Erin, and new blogger Alexia, who have all been named as postergirlz for readergirlz--"an advisory council which will generously lend their YA lit expertise to guide our book choices." Hooray! (Thanks to Jen Robinson for the link.)

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Lastly, there's been more interesting discussion on Fuse #8 about whether bloggers should post negative book reviews. There are some really well-written and thought-provoking comments beneath the post, so don't miss those. Our philosophy at Readers' Rants has generally been similar to that of Saipan Writer--we want to review books that jazzed us, and generate enthusiasm for them. In a way, it started as a venue for recommending books to friends and to other members of our writing group. But maybe it is time to rethink our initial philosophy...I don't know.

Lovely Pesach, Easter, Spring & Weekend to You!

Via Fuse #8, the 'funnest' National Poetry Month game ever -- what poetry form are you?

I am the sonnet, never quickly thrilled; Not prone to overstated gushing praise Nor yet to seething rants and anger, filled With overstretched opinions to rephrase; But on the other hand, not fond of fools, And thus, not fond of people, on the whole; And holding to the sound and useful rules, Not those that seek unjustified control. I'm balanced, measured, sensible (at least, I think I am, and usually I'm right); And when more ostentatious types have ceased, I'm still around, and doing, still, alright. In short, I'm calm and rational and stable - Or, well, I am, as much as I am able. What Poetry Form Are You?

If only they'd had jell-o instead of cream buns... it might have changed everything...

In more poopy news, the SF Cody's is closing, leaving only the 4th Street locale in Berkley... independent bookstores are closing shop all over. 'Tis depressing...

In honor of getting a note from my dear editor that "we'd like to be finished up with the final edit by early May," and my subsequent lying on the floor and sighing, I present:

Fifteen, Maybe Sixteen Things to Worry About
by Judith Viorst

My pants could maybe fall down when I dive off the diving board.

My nose could maybe keep growing and never quit.

Miss Brearly could ask me to spell words like stomach and special.

(Stumick and speshul?)

I could play tag all day and always be "it."

Jay Spievack, who's fourteen feet tall, could want to fight me.

My mom and my dad--like Ted's--could want a divorce.

Miss Brearly could ask me a question about Afghanistan.

(Who's Afghanistan?)

Somebody maybe could make me ride a horse.

My mother could maybe decide that I needed more liver.

My dad could decide that I needed less TV.

Miss Brearly could say that I have to write script and stop printing.

(I'm better at printing.)

Chris could decide to stop being friends with me.

The world could maybe come to an end on next Tuesday.

The ceiling could maybe come crashing on my head.

I maybe could run out of things for me to worry about.

And then I'd have to do my homework (in this case, my editing) instead.

Once more with the soapbox, then I promise I'll step off...

...from the article first seen in the Wall Street Journal
"...Many publishers think that teens like to "read up," which means that they don't want to shop in a section of the store focused on teenagers. Yet retailers say their young-adult sections are pulling in the kids. Their offerings often go beyond the formulaic. Craig Schiff, an 8th grader in Larchmont, N.Y., says he has bought and read such books as Watership Down and Lord of the Flies, in young-adult sections. "I'm not reading books about teenagers," he says. "I like good books."

Suffice it to say, I'm still not sure how to take that. 'Often' go beyond the formulaic? Often?

Ypulse, the YA media and marketing site, has responded to the article about how YA lit is shaped and targeted. As an author of a marketing text and the hopeful future author of a MG novel, the author says, "I want to just write [it] as if I'm writing the best book I can write (if it ends up appealing to more people, great), and not write to a specific formula." This seems to indicate that Mr. Trachtenberg's Wall Street Journal article on Larry Doyle is being taken seriously by more than one potential novelist, and is being processed with mixed emotions.

It needs to be said that YA writers are NOT some Stepford-ed word-processors freaks dancing to a hidden marketing tune. I mean, I have my fears about working through my final edits -- everyone does, because it's hard to see your work challenged and questioned, and we none of us want to give free rein to someone who believes that they know the market better, that they know our story better, that they know YA better than we. Everybody wants to write the best book they can write, and I believe that can be achieved by writing and publishing with YA houses, trusting our editors and their marketing staff, and continuing to think and observe and participate in the process.

I guess this whole thing has really pushed my buttons because I'm to the point in my editorial process where soon I'll be hearing marketing decisions that may not be what I think is best for my book... it's at this point that the work goes from being "my book" to being a team effort and the partial intellectual property of a publishing company. It is scary, no joke, but even as I say this, I find myself having to defend a process about which I'm usually fairly grumpy and hostile, because calling it a straight-out formula simply isn't fair...

Okay. Enough with that.

A shirttail relative of this topic is the conversation over at Blue Rose Girls about compromise. How much of what we write, as YA authors, are we willing to give/take with -- for the sake of our readers, if not our editors or the marketing/publishing world? For those who think that YA fiction is written by formula without thought, I'd be interested in hearing how they would work out that compromise... some things - a very few, but some things don't come under the heading of YA literature. If your editor is asking you to change them, are they "shaping" you? Hm...

Meanwhile, there's still hope for publishing. Dewey the library cat will be immortalized in his very own book...(and you can bet that Knute the Polar Bear will soon have a book of his very own.) The American Booksellers Association has announced its Booksense Books of the Year. Not a whole bunch of surprises there, as The Book Thief rolls in to collect yet another well-deserved prize. Finally, NPR reports the last of the fictitious post-apocalyptic series, Left Behind is released, and I'm sure it will be coming soon to a theater near you.

My smile for the day came from Saints & Spinners, and the amusing editor's letters from Children's Books That Never Were. Gleeful librarians come up with all sorts of stuff in their spare time!

The Poem du Jour is s from YOU HEAR ME? Poems and Writing From Teenage Boys, edited by writer and mother of boys Betsy Franco, and put out by Candlewick Press. This is a.) for YA'ers, and b.) it's written by a boy, a Marcel Mendoza, who was sixteen at the time it was written. Poetry in many high schools is a girl thing - this one is not.

[Untitled]
Just because I love darkness
Doesn't mean I'm depressed
Doesn't mean I can't love

Doesn't mean I'm blind.

Just because I love my Mom
Doesn't mean I'm not a rebel
Doesn't mean I can't love others
Doesn't mean I'm a mama's boy.

Just because I act psycho
Doesn't mean I need medication
Doesn't mean I can't be compassionate
Doesn't mean I don't cry.

Toon Thursday: April 5, 2007

Yes, this is how I'm currently using that fancy art degree. (I feel compelled to point out that my fine art skills are much better than my cartooning skills...) Click the image for a larger version. For previous installments of Toon Thursday, click the label below. Happy Thursday!

Good Books, Good Times

by Lee Bennett Hopkins
Good books, good times/Good stories Good rhymes
Good beginnings, Good ends/Good people, Good friends
Good fiction, Good facts/ Good adventures, Good acts
Good stories, Good rhymes --
GOOD books. GOOD times.

In the category of "what hath God wrought!?" I must introduce you to GoodReads, the latest delightful book-logging, time-wasting, book web-addiction. No, I do not need to have yet another place to discuss books -- I have two Yahoo groups, two websites, 73 titles on hold at the library, and a pile of books next to my bed. Neither, I suspect, do the people who invited me to play at GoodReads need any more places to discuss books -- some of them are librarians and booksellers. Trouble is, we're just... addicted... I thoroughly blame it on being a book-deprived child. (O, Mother, O, Father! If only you knew the damage you have done by making me do homework and chores and clean up after the pets instead of letting me skip school, ignore the whole world and disappear under a convenient table with a pile of books, a stack of pillows, a bowl of blackberries, and a stack of library books! Woe!)

Okay, so no one is buying the deprived-child story, but I was, and I am still years behind making up for it by reading everything. Not every book I read is... um, spell-binding, some are annoyingly obvious, didactic or preachy (Frying Pan Books, as Leila at Bookshelves amusingly calls them), but the gems I unearth more -- much much more than more than make up for the duds.

All of which leads me gently onward to today's National Poetry Month selection,
Surprise by Beverly McLoughland

The biggest
Surprise
On the library shelf
is when you suddenly
Find yourself
Inside a book-
(the HIDDEN you)
You wonder how
The author knew.

Zipping past on the way to bed...

Galleycat gives us the dirt on what librarians can and cannot do with the newest Potter. Who knew that publishers could make so many demands on libraries with regard to their books orders?! Since it's somewhat of a symbiotic relationship, one would think... well, it's business after all...

Via Mermaids, we discover that come August there will be a SEQUEL to Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl. Very interesting; I always thought the Stargirl herself was something of an enigma; it'll be interesting to hear her 'speak' in her own voice...

Blog tours -- what a great idea! MotherReader got the ball rolling for Tracie Vaughn Zimmer, whose book in verse about a girl with CP is making some positive waves. She'll be chatting mañana with Cynthia Lord, whose phenomenal Rules made me both smile and cry. (She just signed a contract for three more books. Yay Cynthia!! Wow!)

Ciao, ciao...

The World Without Airplanes

Airships, held aloft by the magically light, mango-scented hydrium gas, are the luxurious mode of travel for the über rich in Lionsgate, Paris and the world, and Matt Cruse is lucky enough to be cabin boy on the Aurora, the ship where once his father sailed on as sailmaker. There are no airliners in this world, and ballooning is a strange and fickle art that "modern" minds eschew. Cabin boy Matt spends his days running up to the crow's nest and staring out at the sky, running around and making passengers comfortable, serving drinks, giving tours, carrying luggage, coffee and danishes; running, running, running until he drops, and dreams of a world in which his father not only still lives, but flies.

'Lighter-than-Air' Mr. Cruse is happiest in the Aurora, moving quickly and staying busy obeying the Captain and being a model cabin boy, but he aspires to a greater position -- someday owning and flying a ship himself. A heroic leap to save a drifting hot air balloon changes Matt's destiny. He has the Captain's promise that he will be promoted, but when that chance is lost due to political maneuverings and the clout of a wealthy airship owner, Matt burns with resentment and is more than ready for a change. The next thing he knows, he's met an heiresses, her cranky guardian, desperate men and strange creatures. Matt's mental skies are changing -- fast. Suddenly he wonders if his first loyalty should be to the ship on which his father died, and to the Captain under whom he served, or if he should take his chances elsewhere. Is it worth his time to obey the rules, or should he let it all go and follow his heart to adventure? In a short time, Matt is pushed to face that life isn't quite the way he's imagined it to be. There are beauties -- and ugliness -- beyond anything he's ever imagined before, but he and his friends have untapped wells of courage they could never have expected. A fast-paced, thrilling, unpredictable and riveting novel, you'll want to read this 2005 Printz Honor Book, Airborn, in one sitting.

Breaking Through to the Other Side

She is only a capricious, slightly spoiled, mischevious seven-year-old when her Aunt Redd invades her parent's castle and kills her mother the queen, after ambushing her father the King on her birthday. Alyss Heart escapes with only her mother's trusted bodyguard, Hatter Madigan, and they jump through the Pool of Tears to escape out of Wonderland, into a safer world. The world isn't much safer, however, in Victorian Oxford, England. Alyss lives as a street urchin, gets deported to a children's home, and finally is taken in by a Reverend and his wife, where she is miserable, still trying to recount the tales of Wonderland to a family who sees her as ridiculous as best, and a wicked liar. A soft-hearted fellow minister, Charles Dodgson, says he will listen to Alyss's stories. When he comes up with an insipid fairytale, Alice's Adventures Underground, Alyss is wild with grief and fury, and promises to never admit that Wonderland exists again -- she protects herself from the knowledge of a place that only causes her to not fit in well into the world in which she lives.

But Wonderland is real.

As are the Hatter, the Jabberwock, and the murderous Aunt Redd. And it's almost past time, but Alyss has got to get back.

First in the Beddor trilogy, The Looking Glass Wars is an unexpected new take on a strange old story, and has generated a lot of cool additional storylines, including graphic novels and book trailers.

In the Spotlight: Authors With Opinions

QUITE an insane discussion I found via Fuse #8 -- Good grief, and I thought I was vastly annoyed yesterday! Yet another adult author has a pile of opinions about young adult and children's literature. Some of her more breathtaking comments are:

"What I really look at with horror is the women who are volunteering to be very concerned about children's literature. It's too much of a gender stereotype and is also part of the field that rarely amounts to much." Further, she states, "YA books are for the average readers, rarely for the readers who'll continually [sic] passionate reading as adults." She continues, "The ideal children's book has lots of hidden passages in it, and dream states that can be due to drugs, and powerful women who eat little boys and girls. No parent would ever buy it for a child. Maybe librarians would?"

Uh, what?
Let's see... was there any group she missed insulting with her generalizations? YA writers? Librarians? YA readers? Young Adults? Parents? Children? No?

The Web allows for everyone to have an equal opinion... and thus Ms. Orr has stated hers, as is her right. While it may be true that some authors write about their ideal of childhood more than about any reality, I simply don't concede any of this person's points, especially not those that imply that we as women sit around trying to shape and form the civilized world for children, shoving romance and home down their wee throats, but leaving out reality, brutality and sexuality - because obviously we don't see or experience any of that, being only girls and all. What kind of circuitous logic is that?! Simply because she writes for adults does she somehow exclude herself from that grasping, sly womanly author number?

I also must point out that those "average" YA readers who actually read will go on reading if they have something TO READ that whets their appetite as a young adult... obviously, this person doesn't quite get how the whole reading-as-young-adults thing works. Maybe she was born forty-five.

Feh. Enough.

Chasing Ray's article on YA adventure novels for Eclectica blends nicely with my current reading material... I have to say Kenneth Oppel's Airborne, which I enjoyed last night (book review to follow soon) is indeed an adventure. Also, as always I urge you to read Colleen's Bookslut in Training -- this month it's kind of boys-to-men books, books where boys come of age, and will efficiently help you pull together your list of holds from your local library, and add to the To Be Read stack next to your bed.

Somewhere it's national Macaroon week, two friends of mine mentioned just craving them. Enjoy one, and read today's random National Poetry Month pick; this is the first poem I learned to recite aloud in about the second grade:

THE TERMITE
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good,
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today.

Ah, the silliness of Ogden Nash always puts me in a better mood.
And back to work...

Mondaze

In honor of National Poetry Month, one of my favorite poets, Judith Viorst.
W e i r d
My sister Stephanie's in love
(I thought she hated boys.)
My brother had a yard sale and
Got rid of all his toys.
My mother started jogging, and
My dad shaved off his beard.
It's spring --- and everyone but me
Is acting really weird.

Today I heard from my editor and my agent... the sand is pouring through the hourglass; my agent's impending vacation/Book Faire business trip nears... and though it's not like I can't do final edits without him, but after all my I-can-do-it-myself-isms, I now find that I'm a bit nervous to do this last bit without bouncing it off of him. It's all over to me and my editor now, and the feeling that I've had someone holding my hand (despite the fact that I've been chafing to be let off the leash) is coming to a scary end. Writers, writers... oh, the psychosis.

Meanwhile, Galley Cat gives support to the obvious: it's not easy to market to teens. The folks at GC are quoting Jeffrey Trachtenberg's article in the Wall Street Journal (thanks to A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy for the link to where the freebie version of the article lives!) which comes perilously close to snobbishness -- no, it doesn't just come close, it waltzes right on into it. Granted, those of us writing for the YA set know that there is a HUGE marketing element to the publishing, that the books are shaped and honed and aimed at their audience, with the knowledge that it is sometimes fickle. reluctant and overstimulated and easily disaffected. I can see where someone used to having more... control? of his writing, etc., might be offended and unhappy with the way the publishing machine works. (In a way, it sounds like this author was simply unhappy with a critique - and wrote up a piece on why he got away from the label of "YA" to the betterment of his piece. I'd be okay with that if I didn't feel like he was insulting those people who have stuck with YA/Children's publishing. Read Roger was recently noted that there are genre, commercial and literary division in adult lit that aren't taken note of with YA/kids lit. Maybe that should change - but for now? The whole marketing, targeting-shaping thing is how things are done..., and someone coming in from the adult literary world has to fit in to what's already here...just like the rest of us...

There are so many times when I pick up a book in the library and put it down again because it's writing about YA not written for YA readers. There is a difference... and most of the people with whom I've interacted in the publishing world know that difference. Suffice it to say, I, like many others I'm sure, will be interested in reading Mr. Trachtenberg's book...)

And then that nasty word, 'classic' came up again. The author maintains that To Kill A Mockingbird or Catcher in the Rye, if published nowadays "wouldn't become classics, except in the sense that Judy Blume books are classics."

... does this author truly believe that YA is so branded and marketed and shaped and pushed that no one intelligent reads it, and that the writers who write for young adults have no voice in this process (or talent in the work's inception?) at all? And once again what is a classic? What makes a classic? No one has ever been able to determine this Frank Herbert's Dune is a classic, and it was shopped to many houses before it was picked up. The Lord of the Rings series and several others were released to faint applause and only gained in commercial popularity later on. Does 'classic' mean the number of copies sold?

I hate the idea that anything labeled 'YA lit' is expected to be shallow and tepid and stupid and completely marketing driven like toys that come with fast food meals. It's much like the people who write the pink-covered books called 'Chick lit,' and I know I've never been easy on that genre... Mea culpa. Who knew people also thought that all YA lit was tripe. I've been coddled and protected, apparently.

This point of view, that YA lit is just this... commodity... doesn't take into account is that young adult is an age, not just a marketing demographic, and that young adult literature is written not solely to entertain but often to inform and to addresses issues which are endemic to that age group... not that everything is necessarily moral and lesson driven, far from it. I know I'm not saying this well... but I just want to say the guy is wrong, okay? And I am ...irritated. And climbing down from the soapbox now...

Happier Thoughts: In more news, the very readable Markus Zusak is the blogger-in-residence at Inside A Dog, the Australian YA lit blog that is so much fun to read.

NPR's Weekend Edition had such a cute little piece on favorite old toys. I have to admit that I never had a teddy bear, so, thinking it was what normal people had, I bought myself one from a thrift store in the 7th grade. It sits next to my bed still, and it is just as battered by someone else's past as if I had loved it all along.

And speaking of things to cuddle and love, BEAUCOUP CONGRATULATIONS and ¡felicitations! to the McLeans, and their already smiling cutest Pixie ever. Somebody just read that kid a story...

Meanwhile, the Guardian is loving them some Buffy... of course. Season 8 seems to be really catching on, which is good news for all fans hoping for another season! And Dragon-lovers will want to head over and check out Gutsy Readergirl and fantasy writer Janet Lee Carey's interview where she talks about her books, her writing life, and more.

Comics and Characters

I've been eagerly devouring a birthday present I requested from my mom, the new Scott McCloud book Making Comics: Storytelling Secrets of Comics, Manga, and Graphic Novels, and I can't possibly express how fantastic it is if you're at all interested in the process of drawing or writing visual narratives. (Plus, one of the Editorial Consultants was none other than Mr. Neil Gaiman, who occupies a rather prominent location in my personal pantheon.) McCloud has an amazing talent for being clear, informative, and funny all at once, and for using the comics medium itself as a highly effective instructional format. I love it! I'm especially amused by his illustrative examples--I suggest taking a look at his online supplement Chapter 5 1/2 for a sample.

Anyway, this newest book in his series about comics focuses on creation--how to construct your narrative, different ways of using panels, creating characters and rendering them visually, and so on. One thing that's struck me so far is how many of the principles I use as a writer in preparing stories and building characters pertain just as much to creating comics narratives--more so, in fact, since it's necessary to use highly specific visual cues. You have to KNOW what your character looks like when she's laughing; you have to know how far his pants slouch. There are so many considerations. I'm hoping to just absorb what I'm reading, like a sponge, and perhaps when I work on a comic of my own one of these days the knowledge will seep out subconsciously at the appropriate times.

In the notes for "Chapter 2: Stories for Humans," I was highly amused by the way McCloud talks about that old writers' tale, characters that "write themselves." This has always been an idea I take issue with, simply because that's never really how it works for me. Sometimes I can sort of freewrite a character when I'm doing a short piece, but when I'm writing a novel, the process of figuring out what a character is going to say or do, and how they say or do it, is much more deliberate, and frankly, lots of times I mess up. I have to go back during revisions and make sure my character behaves consistently, changing little things here and there. TadMack is great at catching those moments for me (thank you, T!!). Anyway, what McCloud has to say is this:

I've heard creators literally say that they're not so much writing their characters as relaying what the characters themselves want to do....It's actually a pretty common attitude among successful comics artists.

And lunatics, of course.

All I have to say about that is, hear, hear! And har, har, as well. If you're one of those people who are lucky enough to have your stories flow from just listening to your characters do what they want to do, then bravo (though I'm not sure I believe you!) and go to it. But for the rest of us mere humans...I guess it still comes down to Butt In Chair. Which I'm going to go do. Right now.

Sunday Distractions

Via AS IF, Simon & Schuster have posted a video responding to the controversy about Susan Patron's novel The Higher Power of Lucky. In addition to some great, supportive quotes by other authors, the publisher, and fellow Newbery Award winners, the video features snippets of Patron reading from her work as well as an interview with Patron by Cynthia Kadohata.

Via Fuse #8, an interesting little discussion on Mitali's Fire Escape about whether it's right to discuss books you haven't actually read. Having just done it in the paragraph above, I guess it's clear what side of the camp I fall on! In all seriousness, I try not to pass judgment if I haven't actually read something, but I reserve the right to mention it in casual conversation... Also on Fuse #8, a thought-provoking discussion prompted by a Bruce Sterling article on what he sees as the limited future of blogging.

Still from Fuse #8 (she's a blogging champ!), a little something to encourage our continuing judgment of books by their covers: a website of book covers where you can see who the cover designer is and leave a comment with your opinion. I only wish they were categorized by genre or had a specifically children's/YA section...

Last but not least, thanks to Bruce at Wordswimmer for an insightful new post about navigating the rough waters of the writing career (and for plugging Finding Wonderland). He's got some great observations on the ideas of effort, despair, and letting go, and how these apply to creativity; there are also links to good articles in Yoga Journal. If you're having a rough patch, you might want to check it out. Just knowing you aren't alone can help.